


Colours

by handcuffedhale (fizzingweaselbee)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/F, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Pack Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4663080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fizzingweaselbee/pseuds/handcuffedhale
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek was so focused on the furrow between Stiles’ eyebrows as he concentrated that he almost missed the colours of his tank top switching from green to blue to purple to orange, the colours muted but obvious in contrast to the original pale grey.</p><p>“Very useful, now we don’t need that disco ball on the ceiling,” Derek commented drily.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Colours

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this post](http://berry-muffin.tumblr.com/post/96275718205/sterek-week-sunday-click-it-for-the-full-view)
> 
> This is unbeta-ed and is mainly self-serving fluff.

“So guess what I learned at work today.” Derek startled, poking himself in the tonsil with his toothbrush and leaning forward to spit out his toothpaste, standing back up to glare at the reflection of Stiles in the mirror.

“How to take your annoying habits to frightening new levels?” Derek replied.

Stiles rolled his eyes, smirk stretching wider as he leant against the doorframe, arms folded. Derek was so focused on the furrow between Stiles’ eyebrows as he concentrated that he almost missed the colours of his tank top switching from green to blue to purple to orange, the colours muted but obvious in contrast to the original pale grey.

“Very useful, now we don’t need that disco ball on the ceiling,” Derek commented drily.

Stiles’ shoulders dropped a little, and the colour show abruptly stopped. “I don’t know why I decided moving in was a good idea, you kill all my creativity with your brooding and your eyebrows,” he said lightly.

“It wasn’t my idea,” Derek mumbled, and Stiles laughed, stretching his arms above his head and freezing when his back popped, making eye contact with Derek as if to check he’d heard it too.

“But now you don’t know how you got by without me. You’d still be in the apartment with the hole in the wall, probably. So, really, you should be thanking me. I expect a card, maybe a balloon or two.”

Derek snorted. “Yeah, they can stay in that cupboard where I keep all your other ideas.” Stiles frowned, and Derek walked past him, flicking the bathroom light off before finishing his thought. “The imaginary one, Stiles,” he explained, drawing out the words, and Stiles look of confusion dropped into one of mild annoyance.

“The worst roommate. I’m going to get that on a mug. For you. And that won’t be imaginary; it’ll be a sign post to any future roommates.” He continued to grumble as he left Derek’s room, and it wasn’t until Derek was in bed that he realised he was still smiling.

**

“Can you change the colour of the curtains? Derek picked beige, and maroon would look better.” Lydia’s voice hit Derek before he was even to the door, and he mentally readied himself before walking in.

He surveyed the living room in confusion, noting the colour changes before heaving a sigh and dropping his bag to the floor, massaging his temple with his free hand. “What are you doing?” he asked, looking between Stiles (who, at least, looked somewhat guilty) and Lydia (whose wide grin as she stared him down was both enchanting and terrifying).

Isaac and Scott emerged from the direction of the kitchen, both holding stacks of plates, shortly followed by Kira, Malia and Erica, who each held massive bowls filled with food. “Well, Stiles showed us his new magic trick, and Lydia wanted to redecorate,” Malia replied, dropping her bowl onto the coffee table with a loud thud and moving to curl up in the same armchair as Kira.

Boyd, who was the last one of out the kitchen, with three pizzas balanced in each hand, shrugged at Derek’s helpless glance. “I was cooking,” he said, and Derek sighed.

“Braeden can’t come, she’s got a job tonight, and Peter is in Montreal? Something about a childhood sweetheart, I didn’t ask any more,” Scott offered up once everyone was sat down. The doorbell rang as soon as he finished speaking, and both he and Isaac perked up.

“Jackson’s bringing Allison,” Erica murmured to Derek by way of explanation, and he nodded, too tired to argue about the takeover of his – of _their_ house. “Also, I cannot believe you forgot pack night.”

Derek was saved from answering by Allison and Jackson walking in, and he hauled himself to his feet to greet them, their relationships much more amicable after the years and trials they’d been through.

“Alright?” Jackson asked, shrugging out of his jacket.

“Alright,” the pack chorused back, exaggerating the slightly English lilt in his voice as they always did, and he scowled at them for a few seconds before it broke into a smile.

He ruffled Erica’s hair as he passed her, and she snapped at him, eyes lighting up. She tried to turn around more fully to hit him and kicked Isaac in the head; her eyes went wide just before Isaac pounced, and Boyd got caught in the flurry of elbows and claws – eventually, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Derek and Stiles were the only ones not in the melee.

“Aren’t our children adorable,” Stiles said with a sigh, clasping his hands and holding them to his chest.

“When they’re misbehaving, they’re your children,” Scott muttered in reply. He and Derek exchanged looks before wading in, separating the other betas.

**

A burst of giggling distracted Derek from his conversation with Boyd, and he turned his head slightly to better pick up what Erica, Isaac and Stiles were doing in the kitchen.

He could see them crowded around the window between the kitchen and living room, but as soon as he made eye contact Erica ducked; Stiles waved with a wide grin, and Isaac started laughing, turning his body away and covering his mouth, but Derek could still see his shoulders shaking.

Derek turned to Boyd for an explanation, and instead found him grinning, eyes fixed on Derek’s hair.

“If someone doesn’t tell me what’s happening, I’ll–”

Isaac’s snort cut him off. “You’re turning a bit red there, Derek,” Jackson commented from his seat on the windowsill, sparking a burst of laughter to fall out of Allison’s mouth. Jackson’s smile turned surprised, and wasn’t dampened by Derek’s growl.

It was as he was growling that he noticed his reflection in the darkening windows, and he sighed, closing his eyes in exasperation. “Change it back,” he instructed.

“But red’s such a nice colour on you, it really brings out those eyes,” Stiles cooed. He rolled his eyes at the resulting look from Derek, stalking into the living room. “Everyone else appreciates me so much more than you do,” he bemoaned, flicking Derek in the forehead. Derek relaxed once his hair was back to normal.

“They don’t have to live with you,” he grumbled, but he was suppressing a smile and Stiles seemed to notice.

He loomed closer. “You are amused by me, I knew it! Shall I change the colour of Jackson’s obscene sport’s car?” he stage whispered the last part, laughing as he ducked out of the way of the sausage roll thrown his way.

Derek was so distracted by Stiles pressing his forehead against his clavicle that the missile smacked him on the nose, and Stiles looked up at the sound, a fresh wave of laughter hitting him.

“A little slow there, big guy. Getting old?” he teased, and Derek shoved at him half-heartedly. Stiles grabbed at Derek’s shirt to steady himself before clambering off of his lap, brushing out imaginary creases in his jeans as he stared at the floor.

“Is it late enough for it to be acceptable for me to open the whiskey?” Lydia called from the hallway, and a chorus of affirmatives answered her.

**

Derek was almost in bed when he heard retching, and he sighed, padding barefooted out of his room and down the corridor to the bathroom, where he found Stiles with his face pressed against the side of the toilet.

“I drank the wrong alcohol,” he muttered. “Turns out wolfsbane isn’t so good for the pesky human, either.”

Derek reached down instinctively, hand pausing over Stiles’ hair before he changed his mind and rested it on the back of Stiles’ neck, veins darkening slightly as Stiles leant into him.

“Did the large post-it note that Kira attached to it escape your notice?” Derek asked, more gently than he intended to.

Stiles turned his head, wiping at his mouth. “It fell off while Malia was holding it – I think she was distracted by Kira kissing her,” he retorted tiredly, and Derek rolled his eyes, moving his hand to under Stiles’ armpits as he pulled himself up. “I’m not an invalid,” Stiles said, slapping at Derek’s hand, but when he tried to walk, he ended up lurching for the door frame. He turned back to glare at Derek. “Well?” he asked, after a minute of silence.

“Well what?” Derek replied, folding his arms across his chest. Stiles’ eyes dropped briefly, and Derek did his best to will his blush down.

There was another pause, and Stiles sighed. “Pretty please, oh big strong werewolf, will you help me to the bedroom?” Derek took a step forward, and Stiles held up one hand. “If you pick me up, I will change your hair colour and it won’t go back,” he warned, earning another eye roll from Derek before he hooked his arm around Stiles’ waist, leading him down the corridor.

Stiles mumbled in protest as they moved past the doorway to his room, half-heartedly hitting Derek on the back of the head as he helped Stiles into his bedroom.

“Just because it doesn’t hurt doesn’t mean it’s acceptable behaviour,” Derek chastised, dropping Stiles onto his bed like it didn’t make his stomach lurch.

Stiles groaned into the pillow before rolling over, spreading out. “I will fall asleep in your superiorly soft bed you know,” he warned.

“That was kind of the idea, you idiot,” Derek retorted, pushing Stiles until he only took up half of the bed.

Stiles moved without protest, eyes lidded with exhaustion from throwing up. “Are you using my state to take advantage of me?” he asked sleepily, and Derek froze before rolling his eyes, slipping under the covers.

“I just don’t want your father to have to arrest me for negligence if you choke on your own vomit – I’ve had a good few years not being a wanted criminal.”

Stiles wriggled until he, too, was under the duvet, face much closer to Derek’s than he expected when he rolled over onto his side. “Your reasoning is sound,” he agreed, yawning and shutting his eyes but not moving away from Derek or the heat he was giving off.

**

Derek woke up with a start, breathing heavily. A tingling sensation on his chest had him sitting up, and only when Stiles’ hand fell from where it had been resting did Derek notice that he had been lightly scratching across Derek’s chest in his sleep.

It also explained the waves of colours dancing across his chest hair, and Derek sighed, shaking Stiles fully into wakefulness.

“Wassamatter?” he slurred, blinking up at Derek in sleepy confusion.

Derek arched an eyebrow, determined to ignore the butterflies in his stomach. “Can you switch off the mojo until later, it’s itchy,” he replied, watching as Stiles looked down at his chest, eyes following the line of now mauve hair until it disappeared into his sweatpants.

The smell of arousal that Derek was almost accustomed to was that much more potent in the morning, so when Stiles placed his hand back on Derek’s chest, mumbling an apology and stopping the colour show, Derek covered Stiles’ hand with his own.

Stiles twisted his head to look up at him, bottom lip jutting out slightly as he frowned, and Derek waited while he sat up, the movement pressing Stiles’ hand more firmly against Derek’s skin.

“You gonna break my hands? ‘Cause I thought you liked them,” Stiles blurted out, and Derek was momentarily distracted from the warmth spreading from where Stiles’ hand still sat.

It was his turn to frown. “Erica told you, didn’t she?”

“Scott, actually.” Stiles kept his eyes on Derek, but his fingers moved, blunt nails scratching ever so gently, and Derek made a noise low in his throat. “Were you ever gonna do anything about it?”

Derek shrugged. “You were young, then recovering from trauma, then in college. I thought I’d leave you to it.”

“You seem to be missing the fact that ever since my first summer in college I have been hopelessly pining for you,” Stiles replied, heartbeat steady for once.

“What were _you_ waiting for?” Derek asked after a moment’s silence, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

He turned his hand to grab Derek’s, pulling it away from his chest and towards him, stopping his head to kiss the scar on Derek’s fourth knuckle that Stiles gave him the first time he’d tried a slicing spell. “You to get so annoyed that you pushed me against the fridge and kissed me,” Stiles replied sincerely, his lips twitching.

“The fridge specifically, or will any surface do?” Derek said drily, and Stiles’ face broke into a smile.

He inched closer, cold feet brushing against Derek’s calves. “Here’s fine,” he offered. “Although not nearly as dramatic.” The last part was mumbled against Derek’s lips before he tilted his head back, lips parted slightly when they met Derek’s.

**

“How does the parenting work now you two are together?” Erica asked from Lydia’s living room, contorted on the armchair despite Lydia’s insistence that they keep their feet off of the new furniture.

Stiles shrugged. “Scott is Big Daddy, Derek is Hit Girl, and I’m Kick-Ass?”

“Please, you’re clearly Evan Peters’ character,” Kira called from the kitchen, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at her.

“Also I don’t know how comfortable I am being Big Daddy,” Scott added, lifting Isaac’s legs up to get through the room and towards the door.

Stiles leant his head around the doorframe, mouth open to respond, but Derek interrupted. “Don’t forget our agreement.”

Stiles’ face dropped, and he disappeared back into the kitchen.

“Agreement?” Jackson asked, leaning down and picking up Erica, re-depositing her on the armchair with her feet on the coffee table.

Stiles’ voice echoed through the hallway. “No sex talk with Pack, although I don’t think me turning his pubes green counts as sex talk.”

There was a moment of silence before Malia’s peals of laughter rang from the bathroom upstairs, and Derek sighed closing his eyes. Stiles watched his mouth frame numbers until Derek turned to look at him, eyebrow raised, and Stiles smiled, holding his hands out in a shrug.

“Technically not sexual,” he repeated.

Derek’s face remained unchanged, and Stiles laughed nervously, slowly getting up. Derek stood, and Stiles yelped, tripping over Erica’s legs before running into the kitchen, a yelled ‘save me’ tilting the corners of Derek’s lips up as he sat back down.


End file.
